Mini Fics
by smellslikesalvation
Summary: Tiny little handwritten fics I had in my journal. Pairings vary.
1. Chapter 1: Sterek

"Pretending everything is normal isn't going to work."

Stiles rolls his eyes, washing the animal blood off his hands with a mildly disgusted look on his face. "I don't know. It's worked out well so far. Sure, a poor bunny or fox got in my way, but hey..." He squirts more soap onto his hands, scrubbing his arms raw. He can see Derek glaring at him. "C'mon. Better than Scott who only thought he was killing people but was actually your creepy uncle Peter. Right?"

Derek huffs, and Stiles hears the judgement before the words even fall out of Derek's mouth. "These are two completely different events."

"Well obviously." Stiles dries his hands with a wad of paper towels. " _I_ have been a werewolf since I was a little baby. In werewolf terms, Scott's technically still a newborn."

Stiles puts his hands on the sink, head down. "Look, pretending everything is normal helps. I'm more focused, and Scott doesn't suspect a thing."

Derek moves behind him, and Stiles turns, leaning back against the sink.

"Scott also deserves to know."

Stiles narrows his eyes. "I hope you realize that nobody was ever supposed to know. You finding out was an accident, a fluke."

Derek crosses his arms. "If you won't, I will."

Stiles groans. "No, because I want to tell them on my own time."

"Stiles, you literally just said nobody was ever supposed to find out. Now, I can keep your secret because it's yours to tell. But after a week, I'm calling a meeting and telling everyone."

Stiles scoffs. "You're bluffing. You're too goody to do something like that."

Derek shrugs and holds his arms out. "Stop me."

Stiles stalks around the island, eyes dark, flashing red, and mouth pulled into a sharp smile.

"Oh I intend to."


	2. Chapter 2: Sterek

"He's in the room down the hall... alive," Scott announces to everybody in the room, giving Derek a very pointed look.

Lydia and Allison are sitting on the couch, staring up at them, clearly lost.

Scott clears his throat. "We can't go in yet. He's extremely unstable and overwhelming him isn't going to help."

Derek nods, knowing that he's getting into that room as soon as possible.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all give Derek the same glance. Scott doesn't understand, but doesn't bother voicing it.

Derek stands after more moments of uncomfortable silence. "I'll go in first. It was all my fault anyways. Plus I was the last person he had contact with before..."

He doesn't bother waiting around, going down the hall, the noises getting louder as he approaches.

It was all Derek's fault. Truly. They had split into groups, scouring the woods for traps left by hunters. Derek didn't even see the arrow until it was embedded in Stiles' side and he screamed in pain.

Derek, not even realizing what was happening until it was almost too late, moved fast. Because Stiles had been keeping a very large secret from them, including Derek, for a long time.

His hand reaches the doorknob before he realizes what he's doing, the growls and groans behind the door louder than ever. He pushes.

Strung up on the wall, held by Hale iron shackles, is a feral Alpha werewolf once known as Stiles Stilinski.


	3. Chapter 3: Sterek

"I know what I saw," Derek demands.

Stiles, proud of his part, doesn't show any emotion. "You do realize how ridiculous you sound, right? As in, it could never happen, and _would_ never happen. I do trust you guys, you know."

He does. But this is a secret, keeping his cards firmly against his chest.

"And anyways," Stiles continues, pushing the line as hard as he can, "who's going to believe you?"

Derek crosses his arms over his chest. You're going to pretend like nothing happened," he says incredulously. "As if it will miraculously shut me up, right?"

Stiles yawns, making sure to fake it just so Derek will huff in annoyance. "God. I am tried. This has been so much fun, but I think I'm going to leave you to your conspiracy theories about me."

He walks over to the large metal door, but when he tries to open it, Derek grabs his shoulder.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Stilinski," Derek growls.

Stiles glances at Derek's hand, smiling up at him. He grips Derek's hand, feeling the bones and muscles under his palm, and Derek gasp in pain.

"See you later, Derek."

Just before Stiles leaves, he blinks once, flashing his red eyes at Derek before taking off.


	4. Chapter 4: Allydia

Hacker!Lydia/Assassin!Allison

"And who are you?" Lydia whispers to herself, pausing her typing to glance at her laptop. The cameras reveal a shadow moving through the galleria. "Silly child," she adds, smirking.

The shadow moves quickly, keeping its head down and out of sight. Lydia watches it move from camera to camera, room to room. the shadow eventually stops in a room with several paintings. It chooses one that wasn't well- known or often-visited.

"Not even the most expensive one in the lot." The admonishment is quick, and then she's back to glancing between the computer and her laptop. She types a few more lines of code, finally gets what she needs, and begins packing up her equipment as she waits for the files to transfer.

Lydia still checks on the shadow, who just cracked the glass on the display and alarms begin blaring. She curses under her breath as she rushes to gather her things and sneak around the now-awake security guards. Her files are just about to finish when a shout makes her jump back from the computer and put her hands up.

A guard stands in the doorway, stun-gun in hand. "Step away from the computer," he commands slowly. "Put down the bag." Lydia has her bag over her shoulder and all she needs is her flash drive and she's all set.

Suddenly, his neck is twisted and he drops to the floor without another sound. The shadow, as it turns out, showed up to bail her out. They have half its face covered by a bandana, and the rest is hidden in shadow from their hood.

They don't talk as the shadow waits for Lydia to get her flash drive and follow them out of the gallery. Lydia had taken a cab as to seem inconspicuous and so the guards and faculty didn't have her name or know what she looked like. The shadow apparently drove their own car, paid for parking, and doesn't seem in a rush at all.

Lydia slides into the passenger seat, bag sitting on the floor by her feet, and puts on her seatbelt. The shadow slips into the driver's seat, buckles in, and pulls out of the garage.

"Where are we going?" Lydia asks, only watching the roads pass and not on the shadow. She needs to pay attention to her surroundings so she doesn't get killed by the shadow.

"I didn't kill that guard." The shadow finally speaks. And they're female. Lydia looks over and sees her bandanna pulled down and hood fallen slightly down her head. "And we're going to my apartment."

"You don't even know my name yet you incapacitated that guard for me. Why?"

The woman doesn't even turn her head as she says, "Your name is Lydia Martin. And I know you will be very valuable in the future."

"How can you know that?" Lydia asks, now worried about her name getting out there to the public. She works hard to have a pretend normal life. "And while you're at it, how do you know my name?"

"I know because I know about the work you've done." The woman smirks. "That also answers your other question."

Lydia stares at her. "Well I think I deserve to know your name."

"You do, do you?" The woman asks, smiling bright enough to light the whole car up. "And why do you think you deserve it?"

"Because You not only know who I am, but where I was tonight!" Lydia yells. "That freaks me out!"

"I guess I do agree on those terms." The woman looks up through the windshield. "But how about a drink first?"

Lydia does the same, and the building is a very tall, very fancy (re: expensive), apartment building. They stay silent again as the woman waves at the booth attendee and drives into the garage, the woman pulling carefully into an assigned spot.

"Guess that money goes somewhere important, huh?" She teases as they walk to the elevator. The woman inserts a key and hits the very top number. and the elevator begins moving. "Like towards a penthouse?"

The woman smiles. "Like towards a penthouse."

When the doors open up, Lydia's eyes are in immediately drawn to the floor to-ceiling windows that show the city and its beauty. Then to the fireplace and mounted TV, to the plush couch and loveseat, the adjacent kitchen and bar, to the bathroom too large for one occupant, and finally to the one room that is properly hidden by walls that are still somewhat transparent.

Lydia surveys, and then turns to look at the woman. Lydia shrugs.

The woman seems to take offense to that. "Really?"

"I've seen better." Lydia turns to bite her smile back. "Mostly the bedroom, but hey," she turns back, "I don't need interior decorating tips from my mark."

The woman, whose name Lydia still doesn't have for some reason, deflates and walks to the kitchen. Specifically, the bar. She grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses and walks over to the couch. She doesn't even use the glass when she takes the first sip, just drinks it right from the bottle. She then pours the drinks into the glasses and offers one to Lydia.

Lydia takes it and sits on the opposite side of the couch. "I still don't know your name."

"My neighbor got this for me as a welcome gift." The woman holds up the bottle, as if to inspect it. "We ended up drinking the whole thing and fucked against the window." She laughs and Lydia smiles. "He was my mark as well."

"What did you need from him?" Lydia asks.

"Information," she says, the smile dropping from her face.

Lydia hastily changes the subject. "My cat is a spoiled princess." The woman slowly smiles and eventually laughs. "Yeah. I'm still not entirely sure how it happened. One day, she just decided that she wanted only the best." Lydia smiles. "Probably gets it from her mom."

"Do you take her shopping or something?"

"No! That's what I don't understand. When I tested it, I bought two brands of cat food. She went for the expensive one and didn't even touch the cheaper one. I even covered the labels!"

The woman shrugs. "Maybe they smell different."

Lydia laughs. "Probably. I've taught her to well."

"Do you have any other royal animals?" The woman asks, twirling the glass between her palms.

"Thank God I don't. I'd be out of all my hard-earned money."

The woman gives her a look. "Hard earned?"

"Well dealing with my temporary bosses is the hard part." Lydia runs a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath to relax. "I'm usually in and out. _I_ don't get caught."

"Maybe I wanted to get caught," the woman jokes, taking another sip of alcohol. "Maybe _I_ like the thrill of the chase."

"Clearly," Lydia mumbles, but makes sure the woman could hear her. She grabs her glass, abandoned on the coffee table, and sighs. "I need to get that information to my _boss,"_ she mumbles to herself. "He'll be shitting himself if I don't show up tomorrow morning."

"You can tell him you were entranced by a beautiful thief who stole your heart," the woman teases. Lydia makes a disgusted face at that, prompting the woman to start laughing. "Not into that lovey-dovey shit?"

Lydia says, "Eh. This line of work doesn't usually make room for relationships. Plus nobody I know is a viable candidate."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Either already married, in a relationship, plain boring, or not interested in anything but my body." She taps the side of her head. "I'm all about the mind. My ex was almost as awesome as me, but sadly he wasn't a fan of stealth or thievery."

The woman smiles again. "Sounds like a great guy."

Lydia sighs. "Yeah. He was."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Lydia watches the night slowly fade into morning, and watches the woman on her right in her peripherals.

"I should go soon," Lydia says, standing and finally taking a sip of her drink.

That's when everything goes to shit.

"No!" The woman screams, grabbing the glass out of Lydia's hands and throwing it to the ground. She has a tight hold on Lydia's wrists, a hold Lydia cannot escape from.

When the woman pulls on Lydia's arm, Lydia pulls back, which makes her extremely dizzy and almost topples over. Suddenly, there are two women in front of her, both with worried expressions on their faces.

Both women run out of the room and into the bathroom. Lydia focuses on trying not to fall asleep. She has enough of her mind to know the drink was drugged, and staying awake is the number one priority.

"You need to throw up," the women say, shoving a bucket into Lydia's hands. "You have to do it now."

Lydia reaches out to grab one of the faces but then the faces disappear into a cloud of black.

"-and we hope you have a good flight."

Lydia wakes up too comfortable and with a massive headache. A water and two pain pills are placed on the tray in front of her.

"For the hangover." The woman, now just one, is sitting next to her.

"You drugged me," Lydia says. She eyes the water and pills, not trusting it one bit. "Last night, you drugged me and I passed out. It couldn't have been the drink because you weren't affected." Lydia looks up. "So you drugged the cup. How?"

The woman sighs, eyes closing and head in her hands. "I- I didn't do it." She looks up. "My bosses- They are the ones who want to-" The woman stops abruptly, looking down at her tray.

Lydia feels dread and fear (something she hasn't felt in years) weigh her stomach down like lead. "Who are you?"

The woman smiles. "I'm Allison Argent," she holds out a hand Lydia does not plan on taking, "thief and assassin."

"Assassin," Lydia whispers. "Argent." She falls back into her chair, looking out over the ocean. "I'm going to die."

Allison has the nerve to laugh. It's more of a giggle, though, and Lydia feels a sharp chill cut through her.

"No, silly. I saved you. You know my name." She points to the window. "Where do you think we're headed right now?"

"We are going to die. This plane is going to c-" Allison cuts her off by slapping a hand over her mouth.

"Shut up, Martin," Allison warns with a way too cheery smile. "You are going to cause a severe panic that no one wants." She releases her hand. "Now, we are going to France. My dad has a few stations set up, and not one is public nor private knowledge. Only one is hidden so well that only he and I know about it."

Lydia can't calm down. She, a hacker, is sitting next to not only an assassin, but an Argent. Never has an Argent allowed a target to live.

Allison leans in close, and Lydia actually flinches away. Allison takes the hint and backs off. "I'm sorry. I don't want to kill you. I like you. You're not a bad person, and I can see that." She sits back in her seat, eyes closing and hands clasped at her stomach. "We'll be there in about five hours."

Lydia has to use all her energy into not jumping out of this plane. She, too, closes her eyes, but she can't do it for long or else she panics and has to open them to make sure she's still alive.

She is. She is alive and sitting next to a sleeping assassin known for killing murderers and rapists and cannibals and crazy shit like that. Allison is almost as well known as her dad, Chris.

But who would want Lydia killed? Granted she steals information and sells it for a profit, but usually it's harmless or, to her, useless.

She gets a much better profit off of it than the jobs her bosses pull off.

Somehow, Lydia falls asleep, and hates the way she is calm enough to do so.

She wonders what it says about her.


	5. Chapter 5: Allydia

Allydia AU- Purgatory Version 1

She clung on to the piece of driftwood, praying for daylight. Blood dripped off the tip, a grim reminder of how she got to where she was now. People (but they weren't human, at least not anymore) attacked her the minute she got her bearings. She remembered taking off running, and tripping face first into the ground, almost busting her nose on the dirt. She grabbed the wood she tripped over and faced her opponents, slamming the wood into their stomachs.

Daylight isn't the normal sun shining high in the sky type of deal. No, instead there's a never ending, unchanging supply of light that seems to come from nowhere and isn't too bright nor too dull. Just... there.

She can't afford to stop moving; she can already hear more _things_ running through the woods, feet thudding like the thunder she wishes would happen.

Rain. It's a half-formed thought, since the idea of water actually falling from the Heavens, drenching her clothes, washing the blood and grime and dried sweat from her skin, clearing the mud from her thoughts, was almost too much to bear.

She craves something other than the long driftwood. She wants her weapon smaller, able to be played with while waiting for the next monster to show their ugly face.

Her name is Sacred, stored deep within the concrete vaults of her mind. Her name is never uttered, never even thought to herself. It isn't who she is now. She can't ruin her name with the vile things she's done here. Even when she was on Earth, nothing came close to tarnishing her name like she has done here.

Sometimes, she hears her name, whispered and echoed across the land. Other times, it's screamed, loud enough to rattle her teeth and bones. It's during those times she worries about getting found, hidden in a secluded cave or invisible among the foliage on the tops of the trees.

The voice sounds familiar, but it doesn't belong in this Hell she's found herself in. And the voice changes tone. Yelled angrily, or whispered wetly as if someone was mourning her. She wants to yell back, "Who are you? Why are you so angry? Do I know you?"

She can recall her name, but not how she got here, or where she was before. She has senses, common knowledge of what she needs to do for herself, how to protect herself, but not where she got the information. It scares her what her mind is capable of, and after spending so much time wherever- she-was, she's not a hundred percent sure she wants to know anything besides her instincts,

What she wants is to leave. She wants to not have to run every day for the rest of her life. She wants to stop and be able to clean herself for more than a few seconds with more than a licked thumb to clean off blood on her hands. She's scared she's forgetting what it was like being human.

Things are being ripped away every day. What she nows today is less than she knew yesterday. And, of course, she can't remember what she's forgotten day-to-day.

She knows her name. She knows she came from a mother and father, but can't remember their names. She knows she had friends. She knows she used to be able to ride a bike. She knows what a computer is, but nothing on how to work one.

It frustrates her to no end that her mind plays tricks on her like this. (And scares her to think this place stole them from her, robbed of her life and experiences.)

Does she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Are her parents alive? What are her favorite songs? Favorite movie? Favorite winter food? To think that she used to have all the answers to all these questions sends a throb of intense anguish through her veins.

She can't pinpoint exactly how long she's been there. Days, weeks, months, maybe even a year. Days aren't marked by the setting Sun, mostly because there was no Sun to begin with. She never gets tired enough to sleep, nor does she get the feeling to do so anyway.

She can't remember if she likes to sleep. Or how. On her side? Someone pressed up behind her, hands splayed across her stomach, stroking sofly and warm, so, so warm.

She gets slammed to the ground mid-thought, the side of her head hitting the ground hard enough where her ears ring loudly.

"Hello, gorgeous," the monster growls in her ear. "Show me that pretty face, huh?"

Instead of answering, she jabs the monster (male) in the side with her makeshift spear. He yelps in pain, and she is able to roll out from underneath him. She stands her ground, backing up to give her room to block any incoming attacks.

"Fiesty. I like 'em fiesty." He licks hs lips, and eyes her up and down. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of reacting. In fact, she stays silent as she plots, watching for weaknesses (right Achilles heel torn, dislocated shoulder, large laceration across his chest) and how to exploit them.

Finally, he looks at her face again. "What's your name sweetheart?"

"Why do you care?"

He shrugs. "You seem interesting. Figure you'd have an interesting name."

"You don't get the privilege of knowing my name." She frowns. "No one does."

"Does it help if I say my name used to be Mike?"

She tilts her head. "Used to be? It isn't anymore?"

Mike laughs. "Just not who I am anymore."

She understood almost too well. "Well then, Mike, I will let you choose. Leave now and live another pitiful day, or die right now."

"You're going to kill me? What do you weigh? A hundred pounds soaking wet?"

"This is your choice? To die?" She demands as her hand tightens on the driftwood.

Mike laughs again and shakes his head. "No. I really wanna know your name, and I don't wanna go to the black place."

He runs off before she can ask what the hell he was talking about. She thinks about following him until she comes to her senses and remembers why that would be an extraordinarily dumb idea. For all She knew, he was getting reinforcements to come back and finish the job.

She runs until she reaches the edge of the forest. It leads to a wide open area that reminds her of a graveyard. She coughs and swears she sees blood on her hand.

The whispering starts up again. It reaches out and caresses her cheek, so full of love it hurts her gut. It tastes like copper on her tongue; the memory is so brief she barely remembers it.

But then she looks out at the field and sees it playing before her eyes.

A young woman with firey red hair standing over a grave. Her hands are covered by white gloves, and the gloved hands hold purple and grey flowers. The woman's name is on the tip of her tongue, wanting to scream it across worlds.

She's moving forward without thought. She doesn't focus on the grave, but on the woman. She looks to be around mid-twenties, her hair carefully styled in a braided bin under a white hat. The woman's talking, but she can't hear her.

She moves close to the woman's side.

"Lydia."

The name comes unbidden from her mouth. The woman's reaction is frightening to her. The woman, Lydia, stops talking, moving, even breathing.

"Lydia. Breathe if you can hear me." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Lydia breathes in deep, then drops to her knees, crying in earnest now.

"Please. Please tell me your real. Please, Allison."

Allison. Her name is allowed to be spoken. She's not back _there_. She's here, right now, with Lydia.

"I'm here." She follows Lydia to the ground. "I promise. I'm really here."

"How?"

"I'm not sure." Allison takes a deep breath she doesn't need. "I've missed you so much."

Lydia laughs, wet and choked. " You're been dead for eight years."

Allison takes this second to look at her friend. Her hair is the same shade it was when they were in high school. Her face is more defined with age, and her mascara is running a little. That's when she sees the scar across her collarbone. She reaches out and touches it.

Lydia jumps and touches the scar. "Allison?"

"Sorry. What happened?" Allison asks, not thinking about the fact that she couldn't feel anything.

"Uh, got a little too close to a werewolf. Not a good one, by the way. An unruly Omega wanted to be the Alpha of Beacon Hills." She huffs in a way that Allison thinks is a laugh. "Didn't end well for him."

Allison scrunches her face in worry. "Are you okay?"

"It happened so long ago I sometimes forget I have it." Lydia sniffs and looks up at the grave. "I really hope I'm not going crazy."

Allison smiles, and moves so she's facing Lydia. "You're not. I promise." She hesitates before continuing. "I don't think I'm dead, Lydia."

Lydia freezes, and Allison wants to reach out and smooth the lines on her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"Lydia, I'm here talking to you. I'm fully aware of what I'm doing. I was in a weird forest before, and was getting chased by monsters all hours of the day." She leans in closer. "I could hear your voice."

"Shut up."

Allison snaps back, hurt. "Wha-"

"Shut up! Allison's dead! We would've found a way to bring her back if we thought otherwise! Shut up!" Allison feels something cold pierce her gut, but when she looks down, nothing's there. "Allison?" Lydia asks, but this time, it's soft, quiet, like something isn't real.

Allison looks up, and her best friend is staring right at her. "Lydia? you can see me?"

Lydia nods her head, mouth in a tight line, and immediately grabs Allison's shoulders and pulls her into a fierce hug. "Oh my god! Allison!" Both of them are crying now, and neither want to let go. It was surreal. After so long not feeling anything, Allison feels like she might overload.

But Lydia refuses to let go. She mumbles, "oh god" and "you're alive" over and over into Allison's hair.

"Not alive," Allison says, gently releasing herself, but keeping a hold on Lydia's arms. Lydia looks at her, confused. Allison clarifies. "Not yet."

"Allison, what are you talking about?" Lydia looks worried.

"I am not alive yet." Allison stands and pulls Lydia with her. "But I think you can help." She looks down at herself. "I don't feel right. Like I don't belong here. I'm," she pauses, "weightless. I don't feel human."

Lydia shakes her head. "So how do we get you back?"

"You." Allison smiles. "You got me here in the first place. Your voice lead me here, and your voice helped you see me and me feel you."

Her face changes instantly. "Okay. I'll get cracking. What should I tell-" Allison's breath catches in her throat before Lydia even finishes. "Everyone else?"

Allison swallows. "Let's keep this between us for now. I don't want to get everybody's hopes up in case..."

Lydia takes a deep, shaky breath. "We're getting you back. Whatever it takes. You didn't deserve-"

Allison grabs hold of Lydia before she can continue, and whispers, "Tell me when I get back."

"I will. I will."

In a daring exit, Allison kisses Lydia's cheek, and starts walking away. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Allison."

Allison fades into mist as soon as she feels her tether slip from her waist. She can see Lydia's lips move again, and though she wants to know what she said, Allison's confident they'll see each other soon.

 _Lydia watches her best friend, a supposedly best friends that's been dead for almost ten years, disappear into mist like she was never there in the first place. Maybe she wasn't, and that was all Lydia's imagination. It wasn't going to stop her from keeping her promise of finding Allison and saving her._

 _She wishes Allison could've heard her say, "Always," but there's always next time._

 _With a smile and a new goal in mind, Lydia places the flowers on the grave and heads to the library._


End file.
